


The Horizon Lies Ahead

by fawna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Bellarke, Complete, F/M, I'm Sorry, Slow Burn, dying, lots of dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawna/pseuds/fawna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Bellamy met Clarke she had a gun in her hand and blood on her face. The first time Clarke met Bellamy he had a gun to his forehead and fear in his eyes.</p><p>Or when Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin become partners in a zombie apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work so any hints would be welcomed. Also just warning you that this hasn't been read by anyone but me so spelling mistakes are possible. Anyway, here goes nothing...
> 
> Would love to hear what everyone thinks! I already have chapter 2 ready but I'd like to get any advice you could offer me before I post it. I don't really like this first chapter and I promise the next one is better.

The first time Bellamy met Clarke she had a gun in her hand and blood on her face. The first time Clarke met Bellamy he had a gun to his forehead and fear in his eyes. Maybe it was those eyes that made her finger hesitate over the trigger.

“Don’t shoot.” His voice was barely above a whisper but it sounded like gravel. “Please don’t shoot.”

“What can you offer me?” Her blue eyes were ice, sending frost down his veins.

“A car?”

He was all too aware of the gun at his temple as she steered him towards the door of the abandoned gas station. Neither of them mentioned the awkward angle he was bent backwards so that she could comfortably place the barrel against his skull.

“See? Beautiful four wheel drive. Good enough for you, Princess?” Cockiness was a stupid trait to possess when a stranger held your life in their hands.

“You’re willing to stay with me?”

“Sure. I mean a partner would be good. Really good. We could look out for each other.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

“Okay.” Her voice was rather calm for someone who had almost shot him before he could even react.

“Well, Princess, I’m no expert but the first step to a trusting relationship with someone is probably, ‘take the weapon away from their head’.”

With the gun safely tucked into her jeans, they cleared the gas station of supplies. She made sure she always kept him in the corner of her vision.

“Fuck!”

She rushed over to him. A head rolled by his feet.

“This is fresh.”

“Yeah,” she said, using the toe of her boot to stop the unnerving rolling of the severed head. “I had to deal with him when I first came in. Looks like he worked here. Must be an awful place to turn.” She looked a little sad, as if she felt sorry for the guy she had brutally executed.

He frowned at her, only now registering where the blood on her face must have come from.

“And you fucking decapitated him? We both know you have a gun, Princess.”

“Are you serious? Bullets don’t kill them! They just come back after a few hours.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

She went quiet at that. They had the station cleared out within minutes.

\--- 

Long hours on the road together were not nearly as awful as either of them had expected. He didn’t seem to fill the air with pointless chatter and she only spoke to point out the nice colours of the sky. They worked well together, too. Clarke had found him a machete so he could ‘actually do some good.’ Threats were dealt with swiftly. Bellamy sometimes stared too much at the way she would tear through the neck of any zombie they encountered, flames flickering in her eyes. She was always so level headed—‘raid the hospital? Are you nuts? That’s basically zombie paradise’—but with a blade in her hand and zombies in her way she was all passion and ruthlessness. In those moments it was hard to remember the girl who was fascinated with pink afternoon skies.

They still didn’t know each other’s names. Clarke would call him Scruffy (‘Sorry but you need a haircut’) or alternatively get his attention through ‘hey you’. Bellamy called her Princess mainly because she ground her teeth when he did. It was better this way. Clarke knew she didn’t want Scruffy’s friendship. She wanted someone who would split her neck open if she was bitten, someone who wouldn’t even worry about digging a grave. And now he wouldn’t even know what name to write in the earth.

Wells.

Her stomach clenches every time. The dirt had soaked up her tears as she had dragged her index finger across its uneven surface. Wells. His name marked the earth but it wasn’t enough. The dirt was hard and her finger was cut up but it just. Wasn’t. Enough. Maybe her tears would slide their way through the cracked earth down, down to his lifeless body. Maybe they would whisper to him, tell him how much he meant to her; much more than five letters scratched into the dirt.

Her cries had echoed throughout the night.

Sometimes Scruffy looks at her and she thinks he _knows_. Knows that every blade through a zombie's neck is a punch to her gut, a knife to her heart. He’ll come up behind her when she takes a moment too long to stare at the head she had just disembodied with sympathy in his eyes. She doesn’t want his fucking sympathy. She makes a show of kicking away the zombie’s head when he does it.

\--- 

She knows they are heading east. Yeah, their path is mainly determined by where they think they may be able to find supplies but it’s always east, east, east. She doesn’t ask why, it doesn’t matter. She was walking for days on end with little aim before she met him so they could drive so far east that they end up in the ocean and she probably wouldn’t question him.

She trusts him.

She looks over at him now, hands gripping the steering wheel, face halved by the shadow of the visor and the golden setting sun. She trusts him. That should make her feel uneasy but instead the idea settles comfortable and warm in the bottom of her stomach. Maybe it’s because she knows that he wouldn’t risk his life for her, because he would be able to keep going if she were to die. It’s a nice feeling.

Nightfall means sleep. Headlights attract too much attention and there’s no point in driving blindly through the darkness. He always lets her sleep in the boot, despite it clearly being set up for him. He sleeps in the backseat so she doesn’t think it’s that bad of a compromise.

“Goodnight,” he calls in his low voice.

“Goodnight.”

They fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

\--- 

“Good job, Scruffy.” Her chest is rising and falling rapidly and she can barely get enough air in to spit out the words. This was supposed to be an easy raid but the countless bodies scattered across the grimy floor prove that it was anything but. Their eyes connect over their kills and she can tell he's just as wrecked as her.

“Bellamy.”

“What did you just call me?”

“My name. Bellamy.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to t—“

“Clarke.”

She watches as _Bellamy_ crouches down to a body in front of him and disentangles a blade from the corpse's fingers. Bellamy. Huh.

\--- 

“Bellamy!”

“Fuck, what?!” He can ignore how much he likes his name on her lips as her outburst nearly caused him to fucking crash.

“Go back.”

He throws a rough U-turn and feels satisfied when she slams against her door. What—she scared the shit out of him. He sees what she was so damn excited about after a few seconds. It’s an old crappy-looking truck stop and he hesitates before pulling into its driveway.

“I just want a real bed for once. Oh, shit! Do you reckon it’ll have a shower? A working one?”

He gives in and pulls into the driveway. He could mention that it’s his long legs that were getting cramped and he had given her the best sleeping spot but he finds he doesn’t really care. The rotting wooden door of room 18B is easy to kick through and they make their way in. There’s a faint stale smell but other than that the room’s in fair condition.

“Bags this one!” calls Clarke, moving towards the bed closest to the window.

“Yeah, whatever.”

She soon forgets about the bed anyway, rushing for the bathroom. Seconds later the sound of rushing water meets his ears.

“It’s kinda mouldy in here but the shower works!” her voice echoes over the water. The sounds from the bathroom are muffled as she shuts the door behind her.

When Clarke sees her reflection it’s… unpleasant. After Wells she had chopped off the majority of her hair and it had grown back uneven, hanging unkempt at her shoulders. Her face is a roadmap of cuts, blood and scars. When she strips off her clothes they tug painfully on her cuts, held tight by dried blood.

She steps into the shower and the water feels as if it is shedding a layer of her skin. Red and brown dance and swirl down the drain. She closes her eyes and allows herself to feel everything she’s been bottling up inside. Exhaustion—a constant companion that hangs from her limbs. Loss—the tears that sit behind her eyelids, ready for any moment of weakness. Fear—something that sits at the pit of her stomach that she tries to shove down, down, down.

Down the drain. Down with the red and the brown and maybe some tears if she’s being honest. When she sees her reflection again it’s not particularly pretty but it’s more her. Her hair is actually blonde again, something the blood and dirt had almost disguised. She attempts a smile. It looks awkward and a little creepy so she promises herself not to try that again anytime soon; she was never much of a smiler anyway. She had soaked her clothes and now they hang dripping over the towel rail so she wraps herself in a towel before heading back out.

“Shower’s all yours.”

“Thanks.”

When she’s wrapped in the stiff, off-white sheets of her bed (her window-side bed) she hears the shower turn on again and falls asleep to sound of water against tile.

\---

He hears her crying that night. Sleeping was almost impossible for him to find with the heavy quiet of the room—an eerie presence. All quiet is shattered as a sob scratches its way out of her throat from across the room. She never shows any weakness in front of him so Bellamy stills beneath his sheets, unsure of what to do.

“Clarke?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She’s asleep. She starts gasping for air and Bellamy quickly makes his way across the room.

“Clarke,” he whispers gripping her shoulders. “Clarke, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

Her eyes snap open and she reaches out to dig her nails into his forearms. “I had to.” He starts for a moment before realising her wild eyes are unfocussed and he shakes her shoulders firmly.

“Clarke!”

She finally comes to with a shock, frantically looking around the room

“Deep breaths. You’re okay,” he reminds her. They breathe together for several moments and he watches as the steel creeps back into her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says in a firm voice. He takes this as his cue to go back to bed.

“You’re welcome, Princess.”

He doesn’t ask what she was apologising for just like she doesn’t ask what’s in the east. He knows better than to try and dig through her demons. Hell, he’d be fucked if she tried to do it to him. Some things are better kept secret, and the ghosts that haunt his skull are such things.

The next morning they dress and, slightly cleaner and well rested, head out onto the road again. They fall into an effortless pattern, as the miles of road stretch before them, the horizon’s edges trembling in the heat.

It goes on.


	2. Guns and Girls

They break the pattern.

“Okay, so there’s a supermarket up ahead. Reckon we give it a visit?”

 She frowns a little. “Supermarket? Sounds a little too good to be true.”

 “It’s a small, local one. I don’t think it would attract too much of a crowd.”

 Against her better judgement she agrees to go.

 He pulls the car up in front of the shop. The lot is empty and he gives her an I-Told-You-So look that she ignores. They work together to pry open the doors because automatic doors aren’t so automatic without electricity. The stench should have told them they were fucked but instead they wrote it off as spoiled food.

 Silence. Too heavy, too thick.

 And then it’s broken.

Zombies swarm them, there are so fucking many. They fall into a rhythm—shoot them all now; they’ll decapitate them later. But this is different because they keep coming and for a moment Clarke meets Bellamy’s eyes and she knows.

They’ll die here.

One of them at least. It puts a fire in her gut and she starts using her machete. If she dies she doesn’t want someone else to meet a similar fate.

Bellamy gets pinned down. He hears Clarke’s yell but all he can concentrate on is holding the zombie away from his neck. He knows he’ll likely die here but if he goes down now Clarke won’t stand a chance. The zombie’s bony fingers grip at his throat and he becomes desperate, shoving wherever he can find purchase.

Suddenly a blade rips through the zombie’s neck and its sticky blood is sprayed onto his face. _Goddammit, Clarke,_ he thinks because she really needs to be looking after herself. But the woman above him has dark skin and a shaved head and is decidedly not Clarke. He has little time to question her presence and instead loses himself in the slaughter. Time becomes a lost notion as seemingly endless waves of zombies advance on them. He shoots and slices until his arms ache.

And then it’s over. God, there are so many bodies. He almost cries with relief because he’s _alive_. _We did it_ , he thinks but falters. Where’s Clarke? Panic tightens around his chest. Shit, shit, shit. No. God, no.

“Clarke?” he manages to rasp.

He sees her then across the shop and runs until he crashes into her, clutching desperately at her. She lets out a breathy laugh as she stumbles back a few steps and grips him just as tight.

“Thank fuck,” she breathes into his ear and he pulls her closer, laughing softly.

The moment is broken as Clarke stiffens in his arms.

“Lexa?” Her voice is ice and he’s taken back to when he first spoke to her. He pulls away and turns to look at the woman Clarke’s fixated on. She stands beside the woman that saved Bellamy and, despite her slight frame and the warrior-esque woman by her side, looks fierce.

“Clarke.” Her voice is even, maybe a little bit warm. They stare for a long moment before Lexa speaks up again. “Clarke, I-”

“Don’t. Don’t try to make excuses. You abandoned me. I don’t care what you have to say.”

“I did what gave us the best chance of survival.”

“Screw survival. You left. I had to deal with him myself, Lexa. I had to bear it by myself. You knew I would have to and you just left.”

“You were too caught up in your feelings, Clarke.”

“Like my feelings for you?” Her voice breaks. “Shit, Lexa, I’m sorry for being _human_.”

Lexa’s face softens and Bellamy wonders how many people she looks at like that. “Clarke…”

“Look, Lexa. Thank you for helping us out but I think we’ll get going now.”

“Clarke, don’t be like this. At least stock up. I assume you came for supplies.”

Clarke grumbles a lot as they stock the car with items and makes sure they stick to the opposite side of the shop to Lexa and her companion. She begrudgingly sends Bellamy into an aisle on the other side when he points out that it’s where the canned food is.

“Thanks for saving my life,” he says when he approaches the warrior woman.

“We had a better chance of surviving with four fighters rather than three.”

Their conversation (if you can call it that) ends there but he later finds out her name is Indra when Lexa calls for her from another aisle.

When the store is cleaned of items of use and every zombie head is disconnected from its body, the two groups part. The stoic women watch from the storefront and Bellamy gives them a terse nod before tearing off onto the road.

 ---

After the sun dips below the horizon the air is warm and thick. Clarke and Bellamy sit on the hood of the car beneath infinite pinpricks of light.

“Sucks how we had to wait for the world to end until we could see the stars like this,” Clarke murmurs with a bottle of raspberry vodka just below her lips. She had laughed when she saw the bottle ( _I don’t think this will be very good disinfectant, Bell_ ), she had used his sister’s nickname for him and he didn’t tell her that he had grabbed the bottle on purpose. The bottle is passed between them now and every sip sees their limbs melt further into the hood.

He hums in agreement but offers no other words.

“You want to what the deal is with Lexa.” It’s not a question.

“I don’t want to push you for information you don’t want to give.”

“She was my girlfriend. I think. We never put a label on it.” She shrugs and takes a swig of the bottle before passing it to Bellamy and re-adjusting herself on her elbows. “She convinced me to run away with her. Totally spur of the moment, very un-me, very un- _her_. I agreed because I always followed her. We had nothing to run from, really, but it still made me feel rebellious. I forgot about becoming a doctor or the pressures of being a politician’s daughter.

“One day Wells turned up, my best friend, and I was mad. He was always so over-protective of me and always on my parent’s side. I told him to fuck off, basically. But then he started saying stuff about zombies and danger warnings and I thought that he’d actually gone mad. Lexa told me to ignore him, that he was just trying to make me go back home. So we left him and kept driving. We forgot about the crazy stuff Wells had been saying until we went to this dirty diner and the owner wouldn’t let us in. Every other place was boarded up too and guns were pointed at us when we tried to get in. We had decided early on that we would have a technology ban; we had thrown away our phones and the car radio only played Lexa’s mix tapes. It was so stupid because as soon as we tuned into a radio station it was talking about people coming back to life and warning everyone to stay inside.

“Lexa said that we should just keep going but I fought with her and eventually convinced her to go back to my family and Wells. We got there within 24 hours mainly because I took over driving and never took my foot off the accelerator. When we got back,” she stops suddenly and draws in a shaky breath.

“Clarke, you don’t—”

“When we got back Wells was hugging my mother and she was crying so much. I never saw her cry; she was always so strong. But now—now she was a mess and my dad was on the ground with a bullet hole in his chest. There was a gun held loosely in her hand. I don’t know how she did it. She loved that man so much. She’s stronger than I ever could be. Wells told me that my dad had gotten infected at work, that he nearly killed my mother but she’d… she’d… That’s when I noticed,” she pauses to grab the bottle off him and take a large gulp. “I noticed the bite on her arm. Wells must have noticed too because he swore and jumped up. Mum just raised the gun to her temple so fucking calmly and I screamed so much but—shit, she pulled the trigger. Wells, Lexa and I all piled back into the car after. Wells sat in the back with me and comforted me while I cried into him.”

Bellamy watches as Clarke gazes upwards towards the sky with tears in her eyes. He’s not sure if she’s talking to him or the stars.

“Lexa and I made a badass team. We were shooting all these zombies and we just drove and drove. Wells pretended that all the fighting didn’t freak him out but I knew him better than that. Lexa would give him all these pep talks to inspire him and I thought she was the most impressive person on the planet.

“This one time we were clearing out a little restaurant. Wells was outside watching the door and I just heard him _cry_.” She shudders a little at the memory and Bellamy gives her what he hopes is a reassuring look. “I ran out and shot the zombie that was on top of him but it was too late. Lexa came out behind me and she had her gun pointed at Wells’ head. I begged her not to shoot. I soon realised that I was being stupid and held and cried onto her while she shot him.

“I assumed that because Wells was a friend— _family_ really—that we would give him a proper send off but Lexa had other ideas. ‘C’mon, Clarke. We don’t have time. If we want to survive we have to keep moving’ she told me. God. She threatened that if I stayed she would leave without me. I’m stubborn and I thought she was bluffing so I started dragging Wells’ body away to somewhere better to dig a grave. I took the shovel out of the car boot and started digging. She watched me for a while before chucking my weapons out of the car and driving away.” Clarke breaks into a sob now and a mixture of sorrow and anger swirls in her eyes. Bellamy would wrap an arm around her but he thinks she needs this moment to just get all of her words out. Tell them to the stars.

“I cried so much and dug and dug even after the sun had set. It was ridiculous but I needed to do it. I was about halfway through digging when Wells started getting up. He had Lexa’s bullet hole right between his eyebrows but he was still moving towards me. I ran for the weapons Lexa had thrown out and grabbed the machete because I figured the gun didn’t work. When Wells came up to me I just—,” Clarke mimics slicing through the air, lips pursed to keep her tears at bay. “And then his head was rolling away and his body slumped to the ground between my legs. I finished digging him that grave and covered him up. When I was done crying and feeling sorry for myself I just started walking and never stopped.”

She finishes talking and a calming silence hangs over the pair.

“You’re the bravest person I know. You know that right?”

She looks over at him with a soft smile and watery eyes. “You’re damn right.”

\---

They stir awake as the sun begins to warm the metal of the car.

“I can’t believe we slept out here,” Clarke says raising a hand to her head.

“Got a hangover?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Me too,” he says with a soft chuckle.

They climb into the car and Clarke turns the key in the ignition. The car thrums to life and Clarke turns to him.

“Where are we off to?”

He feels guilty that Clarke emptied herself out to him last night and he didn’t offer her a shred of information.

“My sister.”

Clarke frowns at him. “Sorry?”

“My sister is in the east. That’s where we’re heading.”

Clarke’s steely eyes soften, as if the metal within them was being melted. “She’s alive?”

“I hope.”

“To the east it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I kinda just wanted to get this chapter out. I'm still working on chapter three so it definitely won't come out as quick. At the moment it looks like there will be four or five chapters so, yeah, nothing too long because otherwise I feel like I'm just stretching it out and everything will just be a filler chapter.


	3. Constellations

The fact that Clarke knows about Bellamy’s sister doesn’t change the way they travel. They pick out things from the map that look profitable. They tear down any zombies that get in their way. But then they find Monty and Jasper.

Clarke immediately has her gun trained at the forehead of the tallest boy and Bellamy’s glad he’s not the only one she’s done it to.

“We were here first,” she practically growls. She normally would forget threatening and immediately pull the trigger but something about these boys screams innocence. This is the second time she’s hesitated so maybe she’s just becoming soft. She fucking hopes not.

The boy at the other end of her gun has gone white but his friend steps up. “Please don’t shoot him. We’ll leave, okay? We’re just hungry.” He starts tugging on his friend’s arm while Clarke lowers her gun.

“You can get some supplies,” she says softly, pitying.

“Really?”

She waves her gun loosely towards the shelves behind her. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

The boys take everything they can fit into their backpacks before leaving, endlessly thanking Clarke and Bellamy. Clarke watches them leave with fond eyes. She catches Bellamy observing her and he raises an eyebrow, referencing her protective instincts. She just shakes her head at him with a small smile.

They forget about the pair as they clear the station out and clamber back into the car’s worn leather seats. That is, of course, until they drive past the boys who walk slowly in beside the dirt road, sagging beneath the beating sun.

“Bell.”

She doesn’t even have to say anything. He grumbles as he pulls over beside the boys.

“Where are you heading?” he asks.

The tall, lanky one shrugs, seemingly more at ease away from Clarke’s gun. “Anywhere, I guess.”

Clarke leans over the console to talk to the boys. “We could help you get there faster.”

The smaller boy shakes his head and is about to speak before he’s cut off by lanky. “Hell yeah! If that’s okay, that is.”

\--- 

With all the talking that lanky does it’s not hard to find out that is name is Jasper and his friend is Monty. That a zombie apocalypse was, like, their biggest fantasy but it’s harder than they thought. That they were high when everything went shitty and all they grabbed was their backpacks that they filled with a bunch of bananas, a packet of batteries and some comic books. That they’ve killed about eleven zombies (this was said with pride). They become engrossed in conversations about maths and science and completely forget about Clarke and Bellamy. Other times, however, they debate whether the ability to fly is superior to telekinesis (Jasper thinks flying is the ultimate superpower because _why would I want to make other things fly when I could fly myself?_ Monty reminds him that _with your noodle arms you wouldn’t be able to do any damage once you flew up to you enemy, anyway. With telekinesis you could throw something at them and it wouldn’t even matter how noodle-y your arms are_ ). Clarke keeps catching Bellamy’s eyes, her own eyes sparkling and her lips tight as she tries to keep a laugh at bay. He’s never seen her so happy and he can’t help grinning at her. It’s been a while since his lips have stretched so far.

\---

It’s surprising that Jasper and Monty have managed to kill even eleven zombies. Monty is a little bit timid and Jasper is far too enthusiastic. They are fast learners, however. Monty becomes deliberate, slicing through zombies with swift movements and a scowl. Jasper—well Jasper is a wildfire. He eagerly tears through zombies his eyes ablaze and he woops once they’re all decapitated.

They manage to convince Clarke to open a bottle of whiskey (which Bellamy was never able to do) and the four off them pass it around as they sit in the dirt. Once they’re sufficiently wasted they stretch out on the ground, turned towards the night sky. The night is hushed. It is filled only with the sounds of their own breaths and the quiet chirp of crickets, and the feel of the heavy summer air. When Clarke turns to face Bellamy he looks relaxed. She finds herself comparing the freckles on his nose to the constellations above them. He catches her staring at him so she smiles softly at him and he returns the gesture before they both turn their heads upwards again.

It feels like home.

\---

Sleeping arrangements are much harder with four. Jasper and Monty share the boot (Jasper keeps yelling ‘no homo’ and Monty reminds him ‘you’re safe. I have better taste than that’), Clarke takes the backseat and Bellamy sits upright in the passenger seat. Clarke glares at him every time and tries to make him swap with her but he refuses. They end up spending more time in hotels and Bellamy’s hatred of them subsides a little. Their current hotel is called ‘Oasis Slumbers’ which is probably the tackiest name in existence. It’s also grimy and far from an ‘oasis’ and the springs of all the mattresses poke out so there’s not much ‘slumber’, either.

Clarke finds Bellamy out on the little balcony, leaning on its rusty rails. A cool breeze wafts past, breaking up the pressing heat. She places her elbows beside his and tries to ignore the crumbling white paint that sticks to her skin.

“Thanks, Bell. Thanks for picking them up. I know you think this many people is a burden but I was them once, just walking for days on end with nowhere to go. I needed this.”

Bellamy glances inside where the two boys (they are technically men but it’s hard to see them that way) are jumping on their bed, illuminated only by the soft moonlight that falls through. “I don’t think they’re a burden.”

Clarke smiles up at him before leaning her head onto his shoulder. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Me neither.” He rests his cheek on the top of her head and moves his arm around her. He can’t remember a time when he felt so content.

They stand like this for an eternity, staring out at the mediocre view the balcony has to offer of barren, cracked earth and the occasional sprout of coarse plants.

“I think we better get inside before one of them breaks the bed,” he finally murmurs against her hair. She takes a deep breath and untangles herself from his limbs.

\---

Sharing a bed with Clarke is probably the most frustrating thing Bellamy has had to do. Her hair, still damp from the shower, clings to him and she moves a fuck tonne. Becoming mad he pokes her ribs, waking her.

“For fucks sake, Princess,” he whispers harshly. “Keep still.”

She grabs his finger, bending it back.

“Sleep on the floor, Bellamy, if it’s such a big deal.”

He decides he doesn’t care that much, actually.

\---

With the four of them packed into the car it feels a lot less like the world has ended. Clarke hums the tune to a song only she seems to know. Jasper keeps trying to start up a game of I-spy but exhausts his options quickly due to their desolate surroundings. Bellamy’s pretty sure Monty’s fallen asleep but he doesn’t talk much anyway so he’s not sure. It feels like a family. A weird, half-crazy family that murders zombies on the daily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monty and Jasper are so freaking adorable I had to include them. This is a pretty short chapter so sorry about that. As always any feedback is greatly appreciated so don't hold back.


	4. Embers

Jasper shrieks and Clarke’s running and vaulting the counter of the restaurant to get to him before she even realises it.

There’s a zombie at his feet. There’s a bite on his cheek.

Monty and Bellamy fight behind her but their sounds are muffled by the dread that is surging through her veins. Jasper looks at her with wide, desperate eyes. His jaw clenches and his eyes become solid, accepting. Clarke cups his untouched cheek with her palm as tears threaten and Jasper leans towards her touch.

“Do it,” he whispers. She can’t hear him but she watches his lips move. She sees his eyes travel over her cheek. He’s following the path of a tear she let slip. His head bends further into her touch. “Please.”

She swallows, hard. Shaky hands reach for the gun in her waistband. She won’t use the machete. Won’t see his still human head fall to the ground. He closes his eyes, cheek still in her hand. A tear silently travels down his face into her palm. She won’t leave him waiting like this.

Her gunshot strikes him through the stomach and the sounds she had drowned out burst back and ricochet off her eardrums. All she can do is hold Jasper in her arms as he slumps against her body.

\---

Bellamy grins at Monty as they slice through the last zombie in the building. Monty looks proud as he holds out a hand for Bellamy to high-five.

“Thanks for all your help, guys.” Bellamy calls sarcastically as he heads to the front of the restaurant. He frowns when Clarke and Jasper are nowhere in sight. He’s moving towards the door when he sees Clarke’s legs behind the counter.

“Clarke?” She’s sitting on the ground, Jasper’s head in her lap and tears down her cheeks. With glazed over eyes she runs a bloody hand through Jasper’s hair. “Clarke.” He’s softer this time, crouching down in front of her.

“What’s going o-” Monty stops short, mouth still open. He freezes there, barely blinks. The entire room is silent and still, the only movement Clarke’s ceaseless hand though Jasper’s hair. It stays this way for moments, hours, years. Monty crumbles and he lets out a choked sound. Clarke’s head whips up and her eyes focus again, their steel wavering. Monty cries silently and it’s as if the world is on mute. When Monty releases an animal-like scream it shatters the air. The shards of air fall down on them, suffocating them under their weight.

“Monty, I’m so sorry,” Clarke breathes in a voice that’s as broken as the air. He doesn’t hear her as he scrambles over to the body of his best friend, his brother. Bellamy stands stiff, not sure if he remembers how to move. They’ll need to cut of Jasper’s head. Fuck. How the fuck will they do that? How the fuck did Clarke do that to _her_ best friend, to her brother?

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Monty wrap his hand around Clarke’s gun but then Monty’s holding the gun to his own head and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Monty.” It’s Clarke and her voice is not shaking like it was a moment ago. “Don’t you leave us too”. If Monty pulls that trigger it will be the second time Clarke has seen someone she loves put a bullet through their head. It will be the second life she couldn’t save today. He won’t let that happen.

“Monty,” Bellamy’s voice is soft. “Monty, you mean so fucking much to us, we can’t loose you. I know it hurts, Monty, _I know_. It’s all so fucking shitty right now but that means it can only get better. It’s only up, Monty” He shuffles forward, closer to the boy breaking before him.

“Listen to me Monty, Jasper would want you to keep going. I know you can, Monty. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Fuck, you gave me a high-five after wiping out an entire room of zombies. Killing yourself won’t show that you love Jasper. Continuing to live despite how much it pains you is how you show how much you love him.” Bellamy’s not sure when he started crying but lines of salty tears flow down his cheeks and gather at his lips. Monty’s eyes are open again and watery with tears. “Please, Monty. Please don’t leave us.” Bellamy doesn’t know what he’s doing. The situation’s so fragile and he’s scared that his big, messy hands will fuck it all up. Monty drops the gun. It clatters against the ground, metal and concrete until Clarke tucks it into her jeans. They sit there behind that counter for what seems like centuries, these three broken people and one dead boy. They sit there until Clarke’s voice slices through the air.

“It will happen soon,” she whispers.

Bellamy knows what she means. “Go out to the car. I’ll take care of it.”

Clarke has to practically drag Monty out to the car but she manages and soon it’s only Bellamy and what once was Jasper.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he whispers into the empty air. “You deserved better.”

When he leaves Jasper’s head and Jasper’s body are no longer attached.

 ---

They drive to the first gas station they can find and Clarke breaks into its bathroom. She runs her hands under the tap and scratches at her skin until her arms turn red. Jasper’s blood clings to her, its dark spots against her pale flesh a negative-image night sky. Her clothes are stained too and she has to make do with what the gas station has. She leans against the basin and hangs her head. Shit. How did this happen? When did she become this? She used to hide behind her hands during horror movies. Now she’s in a horror movie and barely flinches when she kills.

How can she look Monty in the eyes?

\---

The car trip is silent, crushingly so. There’s nothing to talk about, really; talking about Jasper would hurt too much and talking about something light seems like a dishonour to the death that weighs on their shoulders.

They move east.

\---

When the world plunges into darkness they set their spot on fire. Flames soar into the air and it’s a beacon to any zombies. But this is for Jasper, and more so for the people he left behind. Monty stands too close to the heat and speaks for the first time in hours.

“The first time we met I complimented your stupid goggles. I hated them, honestly, but some popular guys were giving you shit for them and I didn’t want them to crush you. Crush your spirit. You made me your best friend soon after so I guess people didn’t offer you compliments on your goggles very often. I saw so many people try to put you down, Jasper, but it never phased you. You were never without a smile. I asked you how you did it, how you stopped caring. You said that sometimes when people push you down you gotta stand up taller to show them how strong you are. I’ve remembered those words for eight years, Jasper, and you just shrugged and un-paused the video game we were playing after you said them.

“I didn’t have friends before you, Jasper. You would always say that we were loners, that we were incapable of making any other friends. It didn’t fucking matter. You were all I needed. More than that. God, Jasper, you were my fucking brother. When I came out to you my hands were shaking and it took me five goes to get the words out. When I finally did you just said, ‘big whoop. Can you stop hogging the blunt now?’ I could have said that I was an alien from Neptune sent to destroy the earth and you would probably say, ‘yeah, but you’re my best friend first.’

“I love you Jasper. No homo you fucking dweeb.”

Monty sits again. The fire crackles and hisses softly. Monty’s eyes are unfocussed as he stares deep into the flames. Clarke watches the embers fly from the fire’s peak and soar up to the stars. She doesn’t believe in heaven anymore but she still likes to think that somehow those sparks will reach Jasper.

\---

“How do you know she’s in the east?” The fire is almost out, its coals glowing orange. Monty is asleep and Clarke needs to voice the questions rattling around her head.

Bellamy clears his throat. “I don’t. I don’t know. It’s my best chance though.” She looks over at him and he can tell that his answer isn’t enough. He sighs. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“Only if you want to.”

“Yeah, I do.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t have a great upbringing. Money was tight. We were happy, though. I didn’t have a dad but I didn’t know better. When I was four I met my sister’s dad. He started and dating my mum and I worshipped him, from what I can remember. When I was five my mum told me I was getting a sibling. I don’t know why she would think that was a good idea. We were too poor to support another child and my sister’s dad ending up leaving mum. You don’t understand this stuff at five though so I was excited. It was a girl and mum let me name her. Octavia.”

He glances over and Clarke who gives him an encouraging smile.

“Mum had bought me all of these history books, I guess because they were cheap and they had pictures. I would ask her to read them to me every night. I assume she censored them from me ‘cause there was a lot of messed up shit in those books. Octavia the Younger was one of the most prominent females of Roman history and I wanted to be related to her. So, Octavia.

“As soon as I saved up enough money I moved away from home. I started writing articles for leftist magazines and websites and spent my weekends participating in just about any protest or rally I could find. I wasn’t getting paid much but I was an angry person and I needed some way to get it all out. I didn’t see Octavia for nearly three years. When I came back she was different. She didn’t need a protective brother. She was strong and fierce and I had left her. I was trying to fix our relationship when we came home one night and mum wasn’t mum anymore. She charged at us and I just slammed the door in her face and grabbed Octavia’s arm and told her to run. We took the car and left. We drove for days on end and learnt how to fight, learned to keep moving. Then we found Lincoln. Lincoln was hitch hiking and Octavia wanted me to pick him up. I only listened because I wanted her to like me again.

“Lincoln knew everything about zombies. His village was the first to experience it, from what I can gather. He didn’t really like talking about it. He was basically a warrior and he fell for my sister. I didn’t trust him because he was getting in the way of my relationship with Octavia. I had to swallow my pride when we were ambushed. Zombies. About twenty of them. Somewhere in the fight Octavia got knocked out. I told Lincoln to take her away, said I would fight off the rest and catch up with them later. When he asked me where he should go I said east. I should have been more specific. I didn’t know that when I finished fighting the zombies off my car would decide not to start. I walked for two days before I found another car. I had to kill a guy to get it.”

He looks at her and waits for her to tell him what he already knows. That he’s a monster. That he stole the life from an innocent man for a fucking car.

“The things that we’ve done to survive, they don’t define us.”

“I thought life was about more than just surviving.”

She looks down at her hands, hands that were once red with Jasper's blood.

“Sometimes we aren’t given that choice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY! I warned you but I'm still sorry! I gave you a fluffy chapter 3 so it would hurt more. You wanna know why? Because I'm a monster, that's why. Please don't hate me. Aside from the obvious, please tell me how you felt about this chapter. Btw I'm thinking this will be about five or six chapters long but most probably six.
> 
> Again: sorry.


	5. Starry Night

One day the east stops coming a direction or a place always over the horizon. They are East.

“That’s their car,” Bellamy whispers.

Clarke frowns at him. “Whose car?”

“My sister’s. And Lincoln’s.”

“So are you just gonna’ sit out here staring at it?”

“Maybe.”

“Park next to it, Bellamy.”

He looks over at her with panicked eyes. “They shouldn’t have stopped long enough for us to catch up. They never stop.”

Her frown softens out as she reaches across the console to take his hand in hers. “You know you have to do this, right? If you want, Monty and I will check first and you can wait in the car. But you have to answer this question, one way or another.”

He tugs his hand from hers and steers in beside the other car. He makes a point of slamming his door before turning back to them.

“Coming?”

Clarke and Monty exchange a look before hopping out of their seats.

The motel is all tacky pastels and crumbling cement. They make their way up stairs with cracked, off-white tiles that cling to the concrete steps. As they move along the row of doors, they check for signs of life. Behind a lacy curtain Clarke spots movement.

She motions for the others to come over while twisting the doorknob. The door creaks as she slowly swings it open. She is only halfway though the door when a strong arm pulls her inside and wraps around her waist. She feels the harsh cold of metal against her throat and stills instantly.

“Leave now and we won’t kill your pretty friend,” a low female voice says by her ear as the knife presses harder against her neck. Monty is frozen in place; one leg through the door the other still outside. He is suddenly thrown inside as Bellamy bumps into his back. The arm around Clarke tightens in shock and the knife presses deep enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Bell?” the voice behind her whispers. They sound almost childlike.

“Octavia,” Bellamy sighs back and his face seems caught between disbelief and pure joy.

Clarke is roughly thrown aside as her attacker rushes into Bellamy’s arms. The pair are gasping and laughing and clinging to each other as Clarke brushes her fingertips against the line of blood that runs across her neck like a dark necklace. When they part, Bellamy holds the girl’s shoulder as he introduces his companions.

“Octavia, this is Monty. And this is Clarke.”

“Sorry about the—y’know,” Octavia says to Clarke with a sweeping gesture across her throat. She doesn’t sound that sorry.

A dark man appears from behind Clarke.

“Are you okay?” he asks Octavia as if she were the one bleeding from her neck.

Octavia nods as tears well in her eyes and her lips are pulled tight by a smile. She glances up at her brother who hasn’t taken his awestruck gaze off her. “I’m better than okay.”

\---

Octavia, Lincoln and Bellamy talk in hushed tones around a small table in the kitchen while Clarke and Monty have been effectively exiled to the lounge room couch. Monty has dark bags under his eyes and Clarke lets him fall asleep on her shoulder as she cards her fingers through his hair. She tries not to think about how Jasper’s hair had felt.

She can’t shake the bitter feeling that hangs over her. Why didn’t Bellamy care when his sister sliced at her neck? Why did he, after all their time working together, think she should be excluded from their little strategy talk? Was this how it was going to be; Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln calling the shots and expecting Clarke and Monty to follow? If Bellamy seriously thought she would take a backseat he didn’t know her at all. She would steal his fucking car and she and Monty would go in any direction they wanted. North maybe. Or even south. Monty squirms under her fingers as she tugs a little harshly at his hair.

“Sorry,” she whispers and forces her fingers to return to their soothing motions.

Fuck Bellamy and his stupid fucking sister.

\---

It’s past midnight when Bellamy comes over to Monty and Clarke on the couch. Monty is out cold with his head in Clarke’s lap. Bellamy’s bright smile could attract moths and he seems completely oblivious to Clarke’s sour mood.

“Are you ready for bed?” he asks her. “We’re going to talk about where we go next tomorrow.”

“I’m more than ready for bed.” It doesn’t really make sense but she says it anyway.

His fingers reach towards the cut on her neck. “Are you okay?”

She slaps his fingers away. “It stopped bleeding six hours ago.” She slowly slides out from under Monty and gently rests his head against a pillow. When she turns back to Bellamy her eyes are anything but gentle. “Where am I sleeping?”

“We were going to share the spare bed.” It comes out as more of a question than he intended it to. When she doesn’t protest he leads the way into the dingy room at the end of the corridor.

“Goodnight,” he whispers when they’re under the covers. She doesn’t answer.

\---

Hours have passed and Clarke lies awake with her head tilted back. Above the headboard is an overly edited photo of a beach, all bright, garish colour. Along the bottom it reads, ‘Life’s a beach. Lose yourself in its waves.’ They’re meaningless words and they only serve to fuel Clarke’s anger.

Bellamy mutters in his sleep before throwing an arm over her. She smiles down at him and then remembers she’s supposed to be angry. The thing is she’s not angry. Not at him. She’s worried that their team will be destroyed, that she’ll become an afterthought. That he won’t notice the cut on her neck until six hours later. It’s stupid and she hates herself for it.

_Life’s a beach. Lose yourself in its waves._

\---

Clarke is the last to wake.

“Finally,” Octavia mumbles and Clarke shoots her a glare that could ice over hell. Octavia ignores her as she starts talking. “Okay, so about two hours east there’s a boarder. Lincoln reckons that beyond the boarder there is a secret society of survivors—”

“If it’s so secret how do you know about it?” Clarke asks.

Lincoln is the one who answers and it’s the first time he has spoken to her. “I overheard two guys talking about it when were breaking in to a hotel.”

“Anyway,” Octavia continues. “I think our best chance of survival is if we get to them. Getting over the boarder, however, will not be easy.”

“Why’s that?” Monty pipes up.

“It’s guarded.”

“By zombies?” There’s a crease between Monty’s brows.

“No. Humans.”

That sends chills along Clarke spine. Zombies are predictable. They want to bite you, eat you. It’s the ones with minds they have to be wary of. They want to satisfy more than hunger.

“So, what’s the plan?” Bellamy asks.

“We offer them a trade. The cars for our passage.”

“And they will agree?”

“Hopefully. There’s no guarantee. So I would say you’re goodbyes tonight. I don’t know how many of us will make it tomorrow.”

\---

Monty and Clarke sit on the hood of the car and stare up at the clouds. Clarke spots a cloud that looks like a skull but she doesn’t say anything.

“Do you think we’ll die tomorrow?” Monty asks. His voice doesn’t crack when he talks anymore.

Clarke shrugs. “Maybe.”

He makes a noise of agreement and Clarke briefly remembers a time where she would try not to be so blunt with him, try to protect him with her words. That time has passed like the skull shaped cloud that has broken into two unrecognisable shapes. She takes his hand.

“If anything happens to you, I’ll miss you.” When she looks over at him he offers her a small smile. It’s weak and his cheeks don’t seem to be able to support it but it’s the closest thing she’s seen to a smile on him so she takes it.

“Same for you.”

\---

Clarke’s been avoiding being alone with Octavia but it seems like the other girl was doing the exact opposite when she corners Clarke in the spare bedroom.

“So, how’d you and my brother meet?”

The siblings’ fierce protectiveness over each other causes her to pause.

“I nearly shot him.”

Octavia’s eyes widen before a grin spreads across her lips.

“You did?”

She nods. She knows what people think of her; she’s the short blonde, she needs protecting. They’re wrong.

“He offered me a partnership so I wouldn’t kill him.”

“Shit, I underestimated you.”

Everyone always does.

“He’s very… fond of you.”

Clarke shrugs. “I was all he had for a while.”

\---

“I’m falling,” she whispers and it’s so soft the breeze picks it up and twirls it around. For a moment he thinks it’s only a moan of the wind. He wonders why they find each other out after night falls.

“Aren’t we all,” he murmurs even though he doesn’t really understand.

“No.” She speaks with such finality he has to look at her. Her eyes blaze into his; blue against brown, ice against earth.

It takes a moment before she speaks again. “I’m falling for you. I’m falling for you, Bellamy, and everyone I love dies.” She doesn’t know when she realised this, only that it feels so true the words could be etched into her bones.

He presses his lips against hers, firm and dry. He doesn’t need to say he loves her. She knows it like she knows the sun will always set or that the horizon will stretch out, infinite and untouchable forever.

Clarke Griffin is falling and she knows how hard the ground hits.

\---

The two cars rumble across the dirt road under a bright blue sky. Bellamy’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“Anyone else feel like we’re driving to our deaths?” Monty asks from the backseat.

“You’re always a beacon of hope aren’t you, Monty?” Bellamy deadpans.

The conversation hasn’t been this light in a while and Clarke feels herself relax into the torn leather of her seat.

“I’m just being realistic. I’m not the one with a half-crazy sister.”

“She’s not crazy.”

“Half-crazy. And she kinda is.”

Clarke hums in agreement.

Bellamy whips his head around to her. “You think she’s crazy too.”

She taps the cut on her neck left by Octavia’s blade. “Half-crazy.”

\---

Tall fences mar the horizon as they draw closer. The fences were probably once electric but the hundreds of weaponed guards provide enough a warning. ‘Guards’ is too formal a label for these people. Small groups scatter across the fence line with bony limbs and sunken, hungry eyes. They sit under the shade of tents; their torn plastic and fabric flutter in the light breeze. Closer to the gate stands a more military group. They are in black leather and heavy boots that must be soaking up the heat. Large guns are held loosely across their bodies. As prepared, the two groups leave the safety of the cars, palms held high. Octavia leads the group, walking slowly towards the gate. Her voice reverberates through the hot, dense air.

“We wish to pass through. We offer you two cars for the safe passage of our group.”

A murmur goes through the leathers. A boy with greasy hair and a sharp nose steps forward.

“And what makes you think that’s enough?” he snarls.

Octavia tightens her jaw. “I think it’s more than enough,” she says lowly.

“Well _I_ think it’s not. I’ll tell ya’ what. Two cars will get four of you across. One of you has to go.” A mischievous grin spreads across his face and a rustle of approval goes through the leathers.

Octavia’s eyes slide towards Monty and Clarke is shoving in front of him before Octavia’s eyes can find him. “Don’t you even think about it,” she practically growls. She pushes away from the group towards the snarling boy. “Don’t be greedy. We are making a more than fair offer.”

The boy aims his gun at her forehead and the air becomes thick. “Or maybe I could make the decision easier for your group.”

To Bellamy’s horror, Clarke steps forward and presses her head against his gun. “Go on. Pull the trigger,” she states. Bellamy can’t see her face but can imagine the way her eyes blaze with every word. “It’ll just be another face that appears in the darkness behind your eyelids. Another kill that will haunt your dreams. You’ll have to drag my lifeless body away; somewhere where you can’t see me, can’t smell me. And you’ll joke and snarl about how the bitch got what she deserved. Maybe you’ll feel proud, because right now you can probably think of a million reasons to kill me. But when your memory fades and all those reasons dwindle away with it, all you’ll have is body count. And when my face appears in your nightmares you’ll ask yourself, ‘shit why didn’t I just let her live? What was the point?’ But go ahead. Shoot. We both know it will kill you more than it will me.”

Silence follows. He slowly lowers his gun and someone behind him calls out ‘Murphy!’ but he ignores them, his eyes locked on her the entire time. When he finally finds his voice he says, “You and your sad little group can pass through this time, bitch, but you won’t be so lucky next time.”

They both know she won’t likely pass through again but she lets someone else someone else have the last word for once.

“Open the gates!” he roars.

\---

“The safe place is another two days walk,” Lincoln says.

“Great. And maybe we should find some food so we don’t die before we get there.” Clarke’s tired of hearing about this fucking ‘society’. They’ve walked for three days across endless desert and she’s hungry and hurting.

“It’s a desert,” Octavia drawls. “What do you expect to find? A McDonalds?”

“If we’d stop walking for five fucking seconds we might be able to hunt. I don’t care if I have to eat a rat at this point.”

“Guys!” Bellamy intervenes. “The sun’s setting. Why don’t we set up camp here for tonight and try to hunt while we’re at it?”

Lincoln shakes his head. “We have to keep moving. The sooner we get there the better.”

“You know what Lincoln?” Clarke practically yells. “Cannibalism is looking real good right now.”

Octavia’s eyes tighten. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“I wouldn’t mind stopping,” Monty offers and somehow that solves it.

\---

“I feel like Bear Grylls,” Monty says as he sinks his teeth into a thick white worm. He seems to be the only one enjoying himself.

They sit around a small hissing fire that emits a soft orange glow.

“This is disgusting,” Clarke states. It is.

\---

They stretch out on the ground, facing upwards. The sky curves like a dome around them and encompasses them in blue and purple swirling space. Clusters of stars stretch across the sky and it’s hard to believe they have been missing this for so many years.

Clarke rests her head on Bellamy’s chest and breathes into his shirt. “Fuck, I love the stars.”

He holds her tight. “Me too.”

\---

They set out again in the morning. The heat curves their shoulders down towards the ground.

“Gas station three miles!” Monty suddenly shouts, pointing to a sign up ahead of them.

“It’s too far off course. There’ll probably be nothing there anyway.” Lincoln reasons.

“Geez, it’s not even glass half-empty with you.” Clarke groans. “It’s more like ‘glass half-full of poison’. Honestly it’s three miles. Six miles there and back. We’ve been walking for so long that’s nothing by now.”

Maybe Lincoln’s _glass half-full of poison_ judgement should have been trusted because what they find after three miles of walking is worse than ‘nothing’.

Fucking zombies. It’s nothing they can’t take but they’re all so fucking tired that they struggle. They grunt as they swing their blades and the little energy they have seeps away with each strike. The fighting goes on for hours and they collectively sag in relief when it’s over. Bellamy’s eyes find Clarke and a grin spreads across his face. She doesn’t return it. His lips slowly fall.

“Clarke?”

She shakes her head. It’s the tiniest of movements but every eye is drawn to it.

“No,” he whispers.

She offers him a sad, little smile. He doesn’t want it. “No.”

His feet take him to her. Up close he can see the tears sitting on her lower eyelids, as if the blue ice of her eyes has melted a little. He takes her head in his hands and kisses her, wet and hungry. Her lips mould into his and he can taste salt. When they break apart her eyes flick down to her forearm. A large gash spills blood in rivulets down her arm. A bite. A death sentence. He kisses her again. It’s a goodbye this time.

“Leave,” she tells him as she untucks her gun from her waistband. “I will look after it.”

“No you won’t.” His fingers grip around her gun. She gives him the same little smile.

“Please. I won’t make any of you do it.”

Monty, Octavia and Lincoln file out and Clarke refuses to meet their sad eyes. Bellamy pauses halfway through the door and stares at her. He tries to commit her face to memory; the indent in the middle of her chin, the low set of her brow, the small mole just above her lip, the strong set of her mouth. Her eyes. Steel and ice and fire. He doesn’t say that he loves her. He won’t make it hurt more. She can probably see it in his eyes anyway. He gives her a terse nod before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

The gunshot echoes for miles. Monty cries and Bellamy holds him as tight as he can. Then he lets go.

“I need to finish it off,” he tells the group.

“You are _not_ cutting her head off,” Octavia growls.

“It’s what she would have wanted.”

“Not by your hand! Bellamy, don’t torture yourself like this! I’ll do it.”

She does. They walk on and Bellamy lets his tears soak the dry earth.

\---

The stars shine brighter than ever that night and it feels like an insult. Clarke is gone and somehow the world keeps on turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM VERY VERY SORRY! I don't know what else to say.


	6. Epilogue

_Ten years later_.

It has some long scientific name but most people just call it ‘The Cure’. It’s a gas and canisters of it are leaked everywhere. Electricity comes on again but nothing goes back to normal. The government desperately tries to get a hold on public control but rebel groups have taken over and the government has no power. After Clarke… after Clarke the remaining four found the safe place. It was an underground group called ‘Camp Jaha’. Life there is bleak and laborious. After three years Monty found a boy named Nathan Miller. Miller was stern and strong and acted as a grounding force for Monty. Miller convinced Monty to leave Camp Jaha as he and a group of other civilians set off for the city. Convincing Monty wasn’t all that hard. Before he left, Monty sought out Bellamy and the two men hung on to each other for as long as possible. When they broke apart, Monty whispered ‘I’m sorry but you only remind me of all of my ghosts’. Bellamy knew what he meant.

Octavia and Lincoln seem to be thriving in Camp Jaha. Octavia spends her time training and she’s beyond terrifying. Lincoln has earned himself a leadership position although Bellamy’s not entirely sure what it entails.

Bellamy has found a place for himself, too—Raven. She’s fiery and witty and reminds him a little too much of what he has lost. He doesn’t love her and she doesn’t love him but they need each other and that’s enough. They are drawn together by their matching hollow hearts. She has a wedding ring that she twists when she’s nervous. A boy named Finn gave it to her when he proposed twelve years ago but then, according to Raven, ‘the world said a big Fuck You and now he’s dead’.

It’s been days after the electricity is turned on before Bellamy finally finds the courage to search her name online. He types in ‘clark politician’s daughter’ because he vaguely remembers her mentioning something about that. The first link is a Wikipedia page for ‘Clarke Griffin’ and he feels guilty about not knowing how to spell her name. He looks through pages and pages of photos of her. Her hair is glossy and yellow and her skin is painted with pretty make-up. She’s undoubtedly beautiful but it’s not _his_ Clarke. Her smiles are too polite and she’s too clean. He sticks to what he can remember.

_The indent in the middle of her chin, the low set of her brow, the small mole just above her lip, the strong set of her mouth. Her eyes. Steel and ice and fire._

With electricity comes light pollution. They’re far enough from the city that it doesn’t have much of an effect but it still seeps into the edges of the night sky, making it fuzzy. Only a handful of stars break through its haze. She would hate to see it like this again. He doesn’t tell Raven about his nighttime endeavours. Doesn’t tell her he goes above ground just to talk to the stars.

“I fucking love you,” he tells the stars. They were always listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's done. I kinda wanted to get this chapter out ASAP, hence the small amount of time between posting. I don't know if this little chapter made it hurt less or more. It was never meant to be a fluffy story, never meant to have a happy ending. Is it weird that I like those kinds of stories? Either way I'm glad that I've been able to complete my first story even if it turned into a monster (I was only planning on three chapters) and I plan to write more soon, possibly exploring other relationships in The 100. I don't know.


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